


If You're Gone

by dearjoanwallace



Category: Matchbox 20 (Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 08:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 16,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10590312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearjoanwallace/pseuds/dearjoanwallace
Summary: Rob goes missing





	1. matchbox one

**Author's Note:**

> If You're Gone 
> 
> by Kellyanne Lynch  
> 13 October 2000 (6:11 PM) - 4 November 2000 (3:34 AM)
> 
> Disclaimer: The events in this story are fictitious, though the members of Matchbox Twenty are, in every sense of the word, real. This story is for the purpose of entertainment and possible recognition from the band, (hee! ; ) I have no connection with Matchbox Twenty or any corporation or entity connected to them… yet.
> 
> Summary: Rob goes missing
> 
> Rating: PG
> 
> Please e-mail with questions, comments, theories, complaints, or words of wisdom.

I drummed my fingers to the tune that had been stuck in my head all week. Phrases and melodies raced through my brain as a blank notebook page glared at me from the desk. I could hear loud voices in the hallway outside the hotel room. It had to be the guys.

"You are SICK!" I recognised Adam's voice. "You ordered McDonald's food?!? There's better stuff here!"

I leaned closer to the desk. Strands of my freshly dyed blond hair slipped over my eyes, and I brushed them aside. Then closed my eyes. I took in a lungful of air and relaxed my shoulders.

"Life's melodramatic stage plays host to death's ironic drama," I whispered. I opened my eyes and recorded the line before it could slip away. Again, I closed my eyes.

"And don't let me down!" Kyle's tenor resonated off the hotel walls. The door flew open. Kyle stepped in, clutching a full drink tray in one hand and McDonalds bags in the other. "Don't let me down!"

He crossed the room in three strides and set the drink tray on the desk. "Whatcha doing, Pookie?"

Covering the page, I mumbled my reply. "Nothing."

Kyle shrugged and plopped down on the bed. Grabbing the clicker, he switched on the television. Adam whisked into the room and hit the power button as he passed the tube.

"Bad Kyle!" Adam exclaimed. "This ain't TV time!" He turned to me. "Hey, Pookie, did you tell him it's playtime?"

"I didn't tell him anything," I murmured. The words of the song that Kyle had been singing earlier were now stuck in my head, and it was tough to write anything else. I dropped my pen and sighed.

Kyle lay back on the bed, his knees bent and pointing to the ceiling. The window beside the bed was open, allowing a cool breeze to whisper over him. Light trickled through the parting of the drapes; its beam left a stripe across Kyle's shirt. He sighed. Closing his eyes, he hummed to himself.

"What? Now that you made Frank go through all that trouble, you're not even gonna eat?" Adam seated himself in another chair beside the desk.

Kyle's eyelids fluttered open halfway. Furrowing his eyebrows, he said, "I'm waiting for the others." He shut his eyes again, with another sigh, and the muscles in his face relaxed.

Adam stared at him for a few seconds before turning to me and mouthing the words, "Can you believe this guy?" He slid off the chair and crept over to the bed. He hovered over Kyle for a full minute, probably to make sure that he was asleep. Reaching for the pillow above Kyle's head, Adam raised an index finger to his lips. I smiled. I had to stifle a laugh too, once that psychopathic expression crossed his face.

"Ahhh!!!" Adam lunged forward, slamming the pillow into Kyle's face. Kyle's arms and legs flailed about, and he jolted upright. THUD! Adam hit the floor. Rolling off the bed, Kyle fell on Adam and throttled him.

I wish I had popcorn.

Just then, Paul peered into the room and found me watching Adam and Kyle beat the crap out of each other. He didn't seem phased. "Hey, guys?" he called into the fray. Shrugging, he turned to me. "Have you seen Rob?"

"Not lately," I shook my head. "He was raiding the vending machine a few hours ago though."

Paul grimaced and turned back to the children. Adam now had Kyle in a chokehold and was laughing maniacally. "Guys!" he yelled. Realising that they were ignoring him, Paul sighed. He headed for the open door.

"Wait!" Kyle rasped, tugging at the arm pressed into his neck. Paul turned as Adam released Kyle. Gesturing toward the desk, he said, "Dinner?"

Paul raised a hand. "No thanks, Smooches! I ate!"

"What'dya have?" Kyle asked as he and Adam stood up.

"Just some seafood."

"Ooh!" Adam sauntered over to Paul. "Fancy seafood or Capt'n Jack's Goldfish Grill-a-long?"

Shrugging, Paul replied, "It was just fish, haddock or something."

"Nice!"

"Hey, listen," Paul must have remembered the real reason why he was here in the first place. "Have either of you seen Rob lately?"

"Yeah," Adam replied. "I had a Rob siting about an hour ago. He was across from the hotel gym, doing his laundry."

I stared at Adam. There had to be a punch line. "He was what?!?"

"Doing his laundry. Yeah, I know it's strange. I asked him about it. He just said he really wanted to this one shirt clean for tonight, he needed to have it, and there was no time to get it dry cleaned."

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Well, was it the one he wore last night?"

Flinging his arms up in the air, Adam cried, "Hey, I'm not the man's fashion coordinator! I never remember what he wears!" He smiled at me. "But I do notice what Pookie wears!" his voice went up a few octaves. "'Cause he's just so fine!"

I glanced over at Adam with a smile. " Do I make you horny, baby?" I asked in my best Austin Powers voice. Adam and Kyle burst into laughter, and I couldn't help but chuckle. My smile faded, however, when I saw the expression on Paul's face. Though tinted by pink sunglasses, the concern in his eyes still showed. He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head.

"He was doing his laundry," Paul stated as he stared into space.


	2. matchbox two

Adam started his baby-doll head kissing ritual early tonight. During the Jay Hawk's opening song, he planted a kiss on the Toy Story baby's forehead and proceeded down the line. He whispered something to the original baby head, spoke to him for a while. So long that it was starting to scare me. But, as I watched Adam close his eyes, I understood why the ritual was especially important tonight. He was afraid.

I could hear Kyle strumming his acoustic guitar behind me. His beat was off. Way off. I don't think I'd ever heard Kyle hit a wrong note before.

Paul paced a patch of floor that stretched before the chair where I sat. He dug his fingernails at the inside lining of his jacket, and black enamel flaked off his nails. When Frank approached him, Paul stopped picking at his jacket hem to face him. Frank whispered something. The message was only intended for Paul, but I heard it. "No sign of Rob".

I needed a cigarette. Fear was welling up within me, and a smoke seemed to always make things a little better. I pulled out my Marlboros.

Paul plopped into the seat beside me and sighed. Turning to me, he asked, "Can I bum a smoke?"

I nodded. Pulling out a cigarette, I offered the carton to Paul. He took it in his right hand. We fumbled for a light.

Paul was the first to find his lighter. But as he flicked at the flint, the lighter wouldn't light. He cursed under his breath. By then, I had found my lighter. I lit his cigarette, then mine, then returned the lighter to my pocket.

Staring at Adam, Paul inhaled the first puff of his cigarette. "Brian, what are we going to do?"

"Only one thing we really can do," I replied, as I exhaled my first puff. "Cancel the concert."

I made it sound so easy. But even as the Jay Hawks played, I heard some fans demanding Matchbox Twenty. How could we go out there and tell them that we weren't going to play for them? But how could we play without Rob?

"I know," Paul breathed. "Let me handle that, okay?"

I nodded.

"Would you still be up for signing autographs?"

"Yeah," I replied. I've signed my name so many times now that it's reflex. All fans have to do is slide something under my hand, and they'd have an autographed… whatever. Not just posters, T-shirts, and CD booklets. I've signed arms, backpacks, sneakers, whatever.

Groaning, Paul got to his feet and walked away. I could hear him and Kyle whispering behind me; I just kept my eyes on Adam. He was still talking to that baby head. His forehead was pressed into the doll's, and his eyes were shut. I thought I saw tears in his eyes, but it could have been the reflection of the trillion lights overhead. I adjusted my glasses, hoping I could focus better. No.

Paul strode into view. When he put his hand on Adam's shoulder, Adam jumped. Paul was taking longer drags on his cigarette, nearly sucking the life out of it, as he whispered to Adam. Adam's face fell. His replies to Paul seemed directed to his baby-doll heads.

Then Paul wandered off. I didn't realise it until I reached for another cigarette, but Paul still had my pack of smokes. Oh well. I bummed one off Kyle, though they weren't my brand.

The Jay Hawks continued to play, unaware that one of their biggest fans was missing. And, though things were going the way they were, I had to admit that Jay Hawks were playing at their all-time best tonight. I sighed, thinking how Rob was missing it.

Kyle took up Paul's pacing. I watched him go through at least three cigarettes. And when I glanced over at Adam, I found him lying on his back on the floor. I kept half-expecting Rob to come whisking in any moment, with some story about traffic or losing track of the time. I waited. But the next band member to walk into view was Paul. I realised the Jay Hawks finished their finale. And that Rob wasn't coming.

I saw the curtains part several feet away from me. The Jay Hawks exited the stage. Behind them came a rush of cheering. Marc Perlman, Jay Hawks' bass player, smiled as he passed me.

"All warmed up!" he commented, motioning his thumb toward the stage.

"We're not performing tonight."

"What?" Marc slid into the seat beside me. "What's going on?"

Before I could say anything, Paul rushed past us. We stared after him, as he stepped through the curtains, onto the stage, alone.

"What's he doing?" I heard Marc mumble under his breath. Wondering the same thing, I kept my mouth shut and listened for Paul to explain.

The audience exploded into cheers, then died down. Paul must have been motioning to silence them.

"Hey, everyone," his voice resonated through the coliseum. He sounded so strange, so small. He never uses a microphone, except when we accept awards, or during interviews. But those times, Paul has the rest of the band to back him up. Now he was alone. "Uh, I should tell you all that we're not performing tonight."

Whispers arose from the crowds, along with some booing and shouting.

"Listen," Paul's voice wavered as he continued. "You'll get your money back, or a voucher to another concert. And, um…" He gulped. The audience was drowning out Paul's voice. "And… can you all please quiet a minute?"

The crowds hushed.

"And you're all welcome to, um, hang around and we'll do autographs. Well, me, Kyle, Adam, and Brian will anyway…"

Again, the audience became loud. At least five hundred people were saying Rob's name.

"Yeah," Paul's voice immediately hushed the crowds this time. "Rob's not here. He's, um, taken ill. Nothing serious. So don't worry about him." Paul's voice trembled, and I could tell from it that he was wracked with fear. And here he was, telling everyone else not to worry. Just made me more afraid.

Glancing over at Adam, I saw that he was now sitting. He was talking to Jay Hawks' Jen Gunderman, who was crouched beside him. Shocks of her fiery hair covered her face and swayed as she spoke. She tucked them behind her ear. Her eyebrows were raised as Adam mumbled something to her. She drew her hands to her face, and I could hear her exclaim, "That's terrible!" Adam nodded and continued.

Paul stepped through the curtains. I could smell cigarette smoke on him, even from several feet away. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out my carton of smokes and pulled out the last one. And I'd had half a pack! He got a light off Kyle's cigarette, then walked away. I could still smell him.

Jen got to her feet. Squeezing Adam's shoulder, she said something with a grimace. She released his shoulder and wandered off.

"So what's he got?"

I jumped; I had completely forgotten that Marc was still sitting next to me.

"Is it something like a cold or laryngitis?"

I wish Paul had told me the cover story before he told the audience. Were we supposed to tell everyone that Rob was sick? I know that's what we were telling the audience, but shouldn't we tell the Jay Hawks the truth? Or were we just going to pull this again tomorrow night in Atlanta…

Atlanta! That's right! We had a concert tomorrow night! If we didn't find Rob tonight, what were we going to do?

Marc was just staring at me, his eyebrows raised. I realised I hadn't answered his question.

"Yeah," I replied without further hesitation. "Something like that."

But, as I said these words, I wondered what Adam had told Jen. The Jay Hawks were going to hate us for this.

"Oh," Marc said, leaning back. He pushed on his knees and rose from his chair. "Well, tell him we missed him. And that we hope he's feeling better."

Wish I could.


	3. matchbox three

Usually, I enjoyed meet and greet time. I get to meet some of the fans, joke around with them a little, basically just hang out and have a good time. But, tonight, meet and greet was hell. I felt like an assembly line worker. As I received items that passed through my friends' hands and now required my signature, fans leaned over the table and demanded to know about Rob. If he was all right, what he had, how long he'd be sick. Paul decided that Rob had the flu; the illness was unpredictable enough.

I must have told six hundred people that Rob Thomas had the flu. There were so many people! Normally, we restrict meet and greet to a cozy number, so things don't get too out of control, like what was happening here. Their voices were still in my head when we filed into our bus.

Rob's stuffed koala greeted us. It was laying on its side, where Rob had been sitting on the way to this city. The koala was from Australia. He bought it there, on one of our many trips to the country, and it was now his travelling companion. The fur around its midsection was matted, where Rob had often held it. The ends of the ribbon around its neck were starting to fray, and the tag on its ear was wrinkled. I looked closer at the tag. I had never really looked at it before. The brand name was "Hug 'Ums", and there was a picture of a boy hugging a koala who looked to be the same size. I couldn't help but smile. We should have stuck a picture of Rob's face over the boy's a long time ago.

I picked up the koala. I stared at it, and it stared back at me with its glossy black eyes. It seemed to be saying, "Where's Rob?", but maybe I'm just losing it. I returned the koala to where Rob had left him.

I slid into my usual seat, behind Rob's, in the back of the bus where all the rowdy kids go. But I didn't feel like getting rowdy.

Adam dove into his side-facing seat on the left. I could tell when he went to sleep; his face muscles relaxed. His arm slipped off his stomach and dangled off the seat. I sighed, wishing I could do the same.

Kyle boarded the bus. He sat down beside me, just as Paul came up the steps. Paul stood in the aisle, at the front of the bus.

"I told Jay Hawks what's going on," Paul announced. "Needless to say, they're upset."

I sighed. Marc must be especially upset at me, since I'd lied to him.

Paul took a seat across from Adam. He and Kyle were staring at our sleeping band member as we sat in silence. We could hear the crew loading our gear into the compartments under the bus. It would be a while before we'd go.

The silence must have been killing Kyle. He jumped up and flicked on the radio.

"I would give my world to lift you up," Rob's voice sang over the airwaves. "I could change my life to better suit your mood. 'Cause you're so…" Kyle smacked the off button and slumped back into the seat beside me.

"Who's going to tell Marisol?" Kyle asked. Of course, Rob's wife came to mind after hearing her song.

"What are we going to tell her?" Paul corrected him. "That we lost her husband?" He sighed.

Shaking my head, I said, "Guys, we haven't lost him yet." Maybe I was just in denial, thinking that Rob would be there when we got back to the hotel. But I didn't want to think about the other possibility, the more real one…

What if he wasn't?


	4. matchbox four

Paul, Adam, and Kyle were standing behind me as I worked to unlock the door to Rob's hotel room. My elbow kept hitting against Paul's rib cage. His cigarette smoke blew past the right side of my face, and his breath tickled my neck.

"Paul, do you mind?"

"Oh," Paul mumbled, stepping back. "Sorry, Brian."

As he spoke, I heard the doorknob click. I jiggled the handle, and the door opened. Flicking on the light switch, I glanced about the room.

"Guys, there's nothing in here," I announced. Paul pushed his way past me.

"What?!?" Paul ripped off his shades and rushed to the centre of the room. Looking about, he exclaimed, "What the hell is going on?"

No one answered. We were all afraid that Paul would rip our heads off if we did. Paul sighed. His hands went to his head, and he fell back into the bed.

"Maybe we should search the room anyway," Adam braved. "He might have left something behind that will help us figure out where he went."

Paul sat up and nodded. "Okay. I'll search the bathroom."

"I'll check the closet," Adam said as Kyle wandered over to the bureau. I scanned the room again. Besides what they said, there were only pictures hanging on the wall, a wastebasket, the bed, and a refrigerator with a mini-bar beneath it. I opened the door to the fridge. Nothing. Then I checked the mini-bar…

Nothing. All the alcohol was gone. Considering the mini-bar in my room, I remembered that it'd had about forty units of alcohol inside. And mine still had forty. It's not like we've been there long enough to do any drinking; we had just arrived this afternoon.

"Guys," Paul called us from the bathroom. Kyle, Adam, and I turned as Paul stepped out of the bathroom, holding up an electric razor. "He left this. But it was under the shower curtain. He probably just dropped it."

I sauntered to the bed. I hadn't noticed how neat it was before. There was a ruffled area where Paul had been laying. Besides that, the bed was perfect. Rob had even done hospital corners! Where did he pick that up?

Under the bed was immaculate too. But I saw something across the way from me, a dark rectangular object. No matter how far I stretched out my arm, I couldn't reach it. So I got onto the bed and reached down the side. My hand brushed against a plastic card. Grabbing it, I pulled it from its hiding space and looked at it. Rob's picture was on it, under the word "Florida"…

Rob's driver's license.

I stuck my hand further down the side of the bed and reached the object I had seen before. Before I could see it, I knew what it was. Rob's wallet.

"Found something," I announced. Adam and Kyle turned to me, and Paul emerged from the bathroom. I held up the license in one hand and the wallet in the other. Each looked from the wallet to the license and back again.

Paul raised his eyebrows. "Then how did he get out of here?"

"Hitchhiking, I guess," Adam replied, sitting down on the bed. "I mean, you know Rob!"

"But why'd he leave?"

Shrugging, Adam said, "Hey, I ain't the Psychic Friends Network!"

"I found something too," Kyle piped up and held a piece of paper in the air. "It was in the wastebasket. The handwriting is his, but it's in Spanish!"

"Huh?" Adam reached over and snatched the paper from Kyle. Scanning the sheet, he said, "Yeah, it is in Spanish!"

"What's it say?" Paul asked, sitting behind Adam, looking over his shoulder. I realised he wasn't smoking and figured that he must have gone through Kyle's cigarettes too.

Adam shook his head and mumbled, "I ain't an interpreter either."

"So let me get this straight," Kyle said, crossing his arms. "Rob washes a shirt, packs up, takes off, doesn't tell the rest of us, and leaves his wallet and something written in Spanish?"

Lying back on the bed, Paul sighed. "None of this is making any sense," he breathed. Then everyone was quiet, and we heard nothing. Nothing at all. Not even the traffic outside, or an air conditioning unit kicking on, or someone noisy in the hallway. Dead air. I was beginning to understand "Kody" better. The words ran through my head. So please hand me the bottle, I think I'm lonely now…

Oh, that couldn't be what this was about! I stared at the empty mini-bar. He wouldn't just take off with a bunch of alcohol to get drunk somewhere, would he? It was kind of weird. Then again, considering everything we knew thus far…

No. There had to be something else going on. Somehow, this all made sense.

"We gotta call Marisol," I broke the silence. Paul, Adam, and Kyle stared at me, like I had destroyed something sacred. Then Paul nodded.


	5. matchbox five

I was brushing my teeth when someone came knocking at my hotel room door. Toothbrush still in hand, I sauntered away from the sink. I opened the door, keeping the chain latched.

Paul was standing there with his hand over his eyes. He rubbed his temples, then moved his hand away. His eyes were red, his face pale in contrast.

"What's going…"

"Can I come in?" Paul whispered. I unlatched the chain and admitted Paul into the room. He settled in the chair by the desk with a sigh.

"You'd better sit down, Brian."

Sitting down at the edge of the bed, I watched Paul rub his hands against his nose. He sniffled. Then, straightening his posture, he said, "Somebody found Rob."

If Paul was this upset, that Rob was found…

No.

Shaking my head, I asked, "So where is he? In his room? With Adam and Kyle?"

"Brian…" His voice trailed off. He swallowed hard and continued. "A jogger this morning found…," his voice wavered and rose an octave. He cleared his throat. "Found him in a lake a few blocks from here. They think he was…, was drinking…"

"Is he okay?" I leaned forward. "Is he at the hospital?"

Paul turned from me and stared out the window. "No," he stated.

I stared down at my hands, at the black rose that I was holding. Its form was so perfect, even as a pedal slipped off and fluttered to my lap.

"Brian Yale."

I raised my head and saw the funeral director looking at me. I rose. Marching down the black velvet-carpeted aisle, I glanced at the people around me. I saw Kyle. He was sitting with his wife, who held their daughter in her lap. Adam sat beside Kyle, his head in his hands.

Then I saw Marisol. She knelt beside a coffin in a long sleeved black dress. A veil and her hair covered her beautiful face. Pressing her head against the side of the coffin, she sobbed quietly. I could only hear her sniffling.

As I passed her, Marisol grabbed my arm.

"No, Brian," she whispered as she raised her head. "He's gone." I reached for her hand and squeezed it. She pulled at my arm with one last tug, then drew her hands over her eyes.

Leaning forward, I gazed into the coffin…

The empty coffin.

"He's gone," Marisol repeated.

Shaking my head, I stepped back. "Where is he?"

Paul touched my shoulder. "Gone," he replied, his eyes wide and tearful.

"But where? Where?"

Gripping me by both shoulders, Paul shook me. "Brian!" My head snapped back as he shook me more violently.

"You said they found him!"

"Brian!"

Bolting upright, I grabbed Paul's wrists and shoved him away from me. I looked around. I was in my hotel room, and it was dark. Sweat rolled down the sides of my face, and I shivered.

"Whah…," I began but forgot what I was going to say.

Paul stepped closer to me. "Hey, Brian, man, you all right?"

I moved my head up and down as I tucked my hair behind my ears.

"'Cause you were screaming."

My face heated up as I said, "Yeah, I'm okay."

Paul sighed and closed his eyes. "So," he asked, "What was your dream about?"

Shrugging, I replied, "It was just a dream." I wasn't about to tell him that I'd dreamed Rob's death, at least not until we found Rob, when we could all laugh about this. I noticed that Paul was still staring at me. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

Such a simple request. But, when Paul left the room, I found myself staring at the shadowed wall. And thinking about the empty coffin. Rob was alive, I thought, as I breathed a sigh of relief. But is he safe?


	6. matchbox six

"Hey," Adam slid into the chair beside me. I had arrived early at the restaurant where we'd meet up with Marisol. I was working on my song again, not expecting to be disturbed.

I looked up at Adam, closed my eyes, and sighed. "What?"

"Paul said you had a nightmare last night." Adam snatched my glass of apple juice and took a sip. Pointing to it with the other hand, he said, "Hey, you don't mind, do you?"

Too late. I shrugged.

"He said you didn't want to talk about it."

"Yeah."

Adam raised his eyebrows as he took another swig of my apple juice. "Okay, that's cool," he put down the glass. "I respect that. I'll let Pookie have his privacy. I just wanted to tell you about my dream."

A dream of Adam's? This had to be good. "Okay, Hashbrown, what'd you dream?"

"It had to do with the Real World video."

"Again?"

"Yes, again!" Adam looked down at the glass and wiped the condensation off the side with his thumb. I hadn't noticed until now that he was wearing dark blue nail polish on that finger. "That video is always giving me nightmares. Anyway, here's my dream: I was walking into a bowling alley, and I found Rob."

My eyes widened. "Rob was in your dream..." My voice trailed off; I had almost added "too?"

Adam nodded. "He was standing there with a bowling ball, and he was wearing the tackiest bowling shirt. In real life, if Rob ever wore that thing, I'd have him committed! Anyway, he turned to Mary Lou..."

"The camel?!?" I exclaimed.

"Yes, the camel!"

Maybe Adam needed to be committed.

"And he said," Adam continued, "Watch this, honey! And he bowled a strike. He started jumping up and down, hooting and hollering, and everybody was staring at him. But Mary Lou, see, she just shook her head and said..."

I burst out laughing. "Mary Lou spoke?!?"

Narrowing his eyes, Adam stated, "Brian, this was in my dream. Not in real life." He sighed. "Now, can I continue?"

I nodded, holding back my laughter.

"So Mary Lou's like, Oh, Rob, that's nothing!" Adam went up a few octaves to achieve a Mary Lou voice. "You've been getting twos and threes all night, and you expect me to be impressed that you can bowl one strike? Dear, I've been bowling strikes and spares this whole game! Then I walked over and said, Hey, guys! Rob went livid. He said that I was interrupting his quality time with his girl. I told him that I really wanted to bowl, and he said I could if Mary Lou was okay with it. So I started pleading with her, and she ignored me.

"Then," Adam took a breath, "Rob said I was pestering her and yelled, Security! You and Paul walked over. You were wearing a headset, and Paul was wearing that pink waitress uniform... what is so funny?"

By then, I had lost it.

Adam shrugged. "Anyway, when you and him let go of me outside, Paul slapped me across the face. And you told me to go munch on some Wax..."

I was laughing so hard now that a few waiters were staring at us. But I couldn't help it. Adam's bewildered expression alone was enough to keep me going.

Sighing, Adam shook his head. "Pookie," he huffed. "I can't take you anywhere. Okay, so now that I told you my dream, what was yours?"

That was enough to hush me. Shaking my head, I said, "No, Adam, you don't want to know. It wasn't a funny nightmare."

"Mine wasn't either!"

I raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged. "Well," he amended. "Maybe a little. I guess I can see where you're coming from. But that doesn't matter. You should pay attention to your dreams, Pookie. They're talking to you..."

Smirking, I asked, "Oh yeah? Then what did yours say?"

"Let's not get into that," he chuckled. Sitting up straight, he made eye contact with me. "Come on, Brian. Paul said you were screaming. He said that you were scared out of your mind and even smashed him into a wall..."

"I did not!" I exclaimed, a little louder than I had expected. Again, I got the attention of a couple of waiters.

Adam sighed. "You pushed him hard enough that, when he caught the wall with his hand, he sprained his wrist!"

I could feel my eyes bulging in their sockets. "Is he all right?"

Nodding, Adam replied, "Yeah. He's just got it all wrapped up, and he's not supposed to pick up anything with that hand. Or play drums for a few weeks."

I sighed and stared out the window. The lake, the one from my dream, was right outside.

"So, are you going to tell me your dream?"

"I dreamed Rob's death," I blurted out, not expecting that I'd get out the words.

Adam heaved a sigh, and his head bobbed up and down. His brown eyes became fathoms deeper, and they looked into mine. With his hands folded on the table in front of him, he reminded me of a shrink. Maybe I needed one.

His voice came soft and low. "Do you mind if I ask how he died in your dream?"

"Some jogger found him," I gestured out the window, "in that lake."

"Drowned?"

Closing my eyes, I nodded.

Adam ran a hand through his hair, and his fingers caught on a few knots. He returned his hand to the other one, folded them again. "Did you actually..." Adam swallowed hard, "see him?"

"That's the thing!" I exclaimed, glanced about, then lowered my voice. "When I looked in the coffin...."

Colour fled from Adam's cheeks. I thought he was going to pass out. "You dreamed his funeral too?"

"Yeah. You were in my dream too. You were sitting with Kyle and his family. And Marisol..."

Adam raised his eyebrows. "Marisol was in your dream?" He put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.

Reaching across the table, I squeezed Adam's shoulder. He shrugged off my hand and returned his hands to the table. "Go on."

"Marisol was kneeling by the coffin, and I stepped up closer. That's when I saw that... he wasn't even in there. Paul and Marisol were saying he was gone, and they just kept telling me that."

I paused, glancing over at Adam. He just sat there, nodding.

"Well?"

"What?"

"What does my dream mean?"

Adam shrugged. "How should I know? I'm not Freud!"

"But..." I stammered. "Then why did you want me to tell you my dream?"

"Just wanted to know what made you upset enough to slam Paul into a wall!" Adam replied, sitting back. He sighed. "Did it make you feel better to talk about it?"

I nodded. The dream had felt so real until I spoke to Adam about it. Now I wasn't sure why I believed it in the first place.

"I see Paul and Kyle coming," Adam looked passed me. "Don't worry; I won't tell them anything."

Kyle slid into the seat beside me, across from Adam. "Not tell us what?"

I shook my head, and Kyle shrugged. Then Paul came into sight. His right wrist was wrapped, as Adam had said, and it was in a sling. Paul eased into the chair across from me.

"Hey, Pookie!" Paul smiled at me. He might as well have stabbed me with a fork; I felt like dirt.

"Look, Paul, I'm sorry! I didn't..."

Waving his working arm at me, he said, "No, it's okay. Are you all right?"

I nodded.

"What'd you dream about?" Kyle asked me.

Across the restaurant, I saw a gorgeous Latin woman breeze through the front door. Removing her sunglasses, she unveiled her chocolate brown eyes. She ran her fingers through her long, silky black hair as she glanced about the restaurant. "Marisol."

"Your nightmare was about Marisol?!?" Paul exclaimed.

Closing my eyes, I shook my head. "No, she's here."

Marisol's eyes met with mine. Her full, rose-toned lips curved up into a smile. She crossed the room to meet us.

"Hi, Brian!" she greeted me. She grabbed two chairs and set them between Kyle and me. Settling in the one beside me, she said, "Hi, Paul! Kyle. Adam." She looked at each one as she said his name. "So how did the show go last night?"

I exchanged glanced with my friends. I was waiting for someone else to speak. They were waiting for someone else to speak.

"Rob said he was looking forward to performing here," Marisol continued. "Though he wants to play in South Carolina sometime. North Carolina is the next best thing though, right?"

Her smile faded as she gazed across the table. "Paul?" she leaned forward. "Hey, what happened to your arm?"

He waved his good arm again. Marisol looked into his eyes and cocked her head to the side. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Um..." Paul replied, his eyes darting around the table for help. The words Marisol, we lost your husband ran through my head. "We, um, have to tell you... something."

Marisol pulled her shawl over her shoulders and crossed her arms. Her eyes widened. "Where's Rob?"

"He's gone," I replied, just so Paul wouldn't have to say it. Paul sighed and closed his eyes.

"Gone where?" she turned to me, her eyes penetrating mine, like they were sifting my brain for answers. "He told me he would meet me here! We planned this yesterday; he couldn't have forgotten."

"We don't know where he is."

I watched the colour drain from her face as I said each word. Sitting back in her chair, Marisol looked down, into her hands. "Oh."

"We found a paper in his room though," Adam reached into his pocket. He pulled out the paper, unfolded it, and laid it in front of Marisol. "But it's in Spanish. We were hoping that you could tell us what it says."

Marisol picked up the paper. Her slender fingers grasped the thin sheet, and her watch dangled from her wrist. Her eyes skimmed the page. Shaking her head, she said, "Rob couldn't have written this."

"Why not?" I asked, looking over her shoulder. "It's his handwriting."

"Yes, but his Spanish isn't this good! Not that it's bad, but he can't write like this."

Leaning closer to Marisol, Paul asked, "What's it say?"

"Well, up here," she pointed to the scribbles at the top of the page, "he wrote the words to 3 AM. But... he's changed it. Like... like right here, he wrote She said it's autumn again, it might as well be my fall."

Raising his eyebrows, Paul said, "That's strange."

"You know," Adam replied, "I kind of like it that way."

"Is that all it says?" I asked.

Marisol shook her head. "He also wrote Alejandro Torres and an address. Do you guys know this man?"

Adam, Kyle, and I shook our heads.

"No," Paul said. "But it sounds like a clue."


	7. matchbox seven

Glancing at the numbers on houses, I walked arm-in-arm with Marisol down a lazy road in Greensboro. Since people recognised them far more than us, Paul, Adam, and Kyle had sent Marisol and me out to look for Alejandro Torres, our only clue as to Rob's whereabouts. They were waiting in the tour bus for us, just around the corner.

I heard Marisol sigh, and I glanced at her. Her head was down, her eyes watching her feet. Though I was standing right next to her, she looked so alone. I held her arm tighter, just so she'd know I was there. She gazed up at me with glossy eyes, and her lips curved up slightly. Then her head moved down again.

"Here it is," I murmured, pointing to the brass numberplate that was nailed into a stucco wall. Over our heads hung a wooden sign that said Alejandro Torres.

Parting a beaded curtain, I stepped into a little shop. Stereos and television sets lined an isle that led to a man behind a glass case of jewelry. The man's smile was so big that even his eyes seemed to smile.

"Buenos dias, senor!" the man looked right at me. "¿Como esta usted?"

"Uh...," I knew he had asked how I was. "Bean?"

The man stared at me.

"Um... Englaysea?"

When he shrugged, I turned to Marisol. "Help?"

"Buenos dias, senor!" she said to the man, and he turned to her. "Do you speak english?"

"Yes," he nodded. "But my english is not very good."

"Are you Alejandro Torres?" I asked him, and he nodded.

Marisol retrieved something from her purse and laid it on the counter. Glancing over her shoulder, I saw a picture of her and Rob. "Have you seen this man?" she asked, pointing to Rob.

Alejandro picked up the picture. Squinting, he held it about a foot away from his face. "This man? Yes. He was here yesterday."

Marisol and I exchanged glances, and I caught a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "Do you know him?"

"No. Until yesterday, I never saw him."

I looked over Alejandro's head, at the musical instruments on display. One in particular caught my eye: a black accoustic guitar with a picture of Elvis and a sticker that said tattooed white trash.

"He came in here to pawn stuff?!?" I exclaimed. Marisol gasped; I'm not sure if she was really that surprised, or if I had startled her.

Alejandro nodded. "He brought me many luggages, but I would not buy most of what he had. I do not buy clothing..."

"But you buy guitars," I broke in, and Marisol stared at me. Pointing behind Alejandro, I said, "That's his guitar, right there."

Marisol's eyes widened, and she bit her lower lip.

Reaching over his head, Alejandro slid the guitar strap off its hooks. He held the guitar like a baby. "This is a very nice instrument. But I must clean the stickers off before I sell it..."

"Can we please have it back?" I asked him. "I don't know why he sold it, but he's going to want it back."

"This is a costly guitar," Alejandro narrowed his eyes at me. "I gave your friend a lot of money for it."

I slid my hand into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. But, when I opened it, it was empty. I closed my eyes and sighed.

Marisol dug around in her purse again and pulled out her wallet. She put her credit card on the counter.

Shaking his head, Alejandro said, "I am sorry, Senorita, but I cannot accept credit cards."

"Please," she spoke softly, her eyes welling up with tears. "I don't have any cash."

"I am sorry, Senorita."

I sighed. "Well, can you hold it for us? We have friends who'll have the money."

When he nodded, I led Marisol out of the shop.

"I'm sorry, Brian," she whispered, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She brushed her hair out of her face and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I tried not to cry."

"It's okay," I replied. "How are you holding up?"

Grimacing, she shrugged.

"Hey, any luck?" Adam was leaning out a window when we approached the tour bus.

"Don't know yet," I said. "We need some money though, as much cash as we can get together. Apparently, Rob sold his guitar and I don't know what else."

"He what?!?" Adam lost his balance and began sliding out the window. I ran to catch him, but he grabbed the side of the window before he fell out.

"Adam!" I heard Paul's voice.

"I'm okay!" he ducked back into the bus. "I'm okay!"

I followed Marisol up the steps of the bus. She sat down, and I stood in the isle.

"What's going on?" Paul walked toward me.

"Alejandro Torres is an owner of a pawn shop," I replied. "He says that Rob came in there yesterday and tried to sell him all his stuff."

Paul stopped about seven feet in front of me. "What the hell is he doing? Is he craz..." Glancing at Marisol, he drew his unbandaged hand to his lips. "I'm sorry."

She stared at her hands, which were resting in her lap. "I know that you're upset," she sighed, shaking her head. "I don't understand this either."

"We need to go back to the shop," I told Paul. "We saw Rob's guitar in there, and we have to go buy it back."

Paul pulled out his lighter and put it the hand that rested in the sling. "How much money do we need?" he asked as he lit a cigarette.

"I don't know. As much as we can find. I don't know what else Rob sold."

Breathing through his cigarette, Paul reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Um," he said with a puff of smoke. "I've got about four dollars on me... but Adam has money!" Paul's face lit up. "He's been saving up for a..."

"You said you wouldn't tell!" Adam's voice cried from the back of the bus.

Paul shrugged. "Well, he's got money," he murmurred to us before turning his head. "How much ya got, Hashbrown?"

Adam stepped into sight, clenching a fistful of cash. "Seven thousand dollars," he replied, holding up the money.

"Whah...," I just stared at him. "What are you saving up for?"

"Were," Adam corrected me. He stuffed the money in his pocket. "Doesn't matter now. Let's just go."

I turned to Marisol, who was staring out the window. "Are you going to be all right here?"

Marisol glanced in my general direction. "I'll be fine, Brian," she reassured me in a flat tone. Pulling her shawl over her shoulders, she turned away and returned to staring out the window.

Pointing his painted thumb behind his shoulder, Adam said, "Kyle and Frank are back there. And Paul's staying here, right?" Paul nodded. "We shouldn't be gone for long. You ready?"

I nodded and followed Adam out of the bus.


	8. matchbox eight

We called off the concert in Atlanta and stayed in Greensboro for another night. Even if we had found Rob, we wouldn't have been able to play. Glancing at Paul, I wondered when we'd ever play again.

I returned my gaze to the wall space over Paul's head. We'd hung Rob's guitar there. Beside Paul was Rob's koala bear. I began to wonder if the tour bus would look more like a Rob Thomas shrine, the more that he was away.

Marisol was gone. But not in the same sense as her husband. After we'd convinced her that there was really nothing she could do here, Marisol boarded a plane en route to Los Angeles, where she had a photo shoot that afternoon. She'd left her shawl on the bus though, heaped beside the koala.

Paul dropped his lighter and swore. The lighter rolled under my feet. Picking it up, I lit his cigarette for him. He nodded with a smile. I watched him bring the cigarette to his lips, take in a drag, and release the smoke through his nose and mouth.

As the bus rolled down the road, toward the hotel, I heard violent coughing from the back of the bus.

"He's getting worse," Paul murmured, flicking ash on the floor.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Who is that?"

Staring at me, Paul exclaimed, "Kyle!"

"Are you calling me?" a hoarse voice replied from the back of the bus.

"No, sorry!" Paul shouted back. Narrowing his eyes at me, he said, "You mean you didn't know he's sick?"

I shook my head and felt my cheeks warming.

"He's been fighting something for a few days," Paul told me. "He was sleeping the whole time you and Marisol were out, and when you and Adam went out again. He just woke up an hour ago, and he's much worse." Sighing, he added, "It's something like bronchitis."

Pushing on my knees, I got to my feet and wandered to the back of the bus. I found Kyle sitting on the long bench at the way back. He was sitting with his torso hunched over his bent knees, playing Adam's Gameboy.

"Hey, Kyle," I said as I sat down beside him.

"I wouldn't sit there if I were you, Pookie," he rasped, his eyes never leaving the Gameboy.

Knowing our luck lately, I shifted a few feet away from him. "So, how you feeling?" I asked him with a half smile.

He coughed, then looked at me with a smile. "Like crap."

"You're not coughing on my Gameboy, are you?" Adam stepped to the back of the tour bus.

Kyle flicked off the Gameboy and tossed it aside. "What Gameboy?"

Shaking his head, Adam sat down on a seat that faced sideways. "You didn't have to shut it off! Just don't cough on it!"

Taking up the Gameboy, Kyle shrugged. He turned it on and started playing it.

"Not like you're going to beat my top scores anyway," Adam added with a smile.

"Already did." Kyle cleared his throat.

Adam jumped out of his seat. "You couldn't have! You suck at Tetris!"

"Not anymore." Kyle coughed into the sleeve of his shirt.

"Then give it back!"

Kyle shut off the Gameboy again and tossed it to Adam. "Fine. I'm going to cough all over it anyway. 'Sides, it's giving me a headache." Scrunching his nose, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Hey, do you mind if I ask Frank to turn down the AC?"

"Kyle," I raised an eyebrow. "The AC isn't on."

"Oh." He curled into a ball and fell asleep. A few minutes later, we were approaching the hotel.

Adam kicked him. "Hey, Smooches, get up! We're here!"

"No, I don't want to get up," he spoke through the arms wrapped around his head. "I'll just sleep here tonight."

"Kyle, you can't be serious," I laughed.

"Please, guys, just let me sleep!"

So we left him there.


	9. matchbox nine

When I boarded the tour bus the next morning, I didn't see Kyle.

"Kyle?" I called through the bus, looking in every corner into which he could possible squeeze himself. He was gone.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose beneath my glasses. I had woken up with a headache; an hour of being awake and a cup of coffee hadn't kicked it. Maybe I was coming down with the same thing Kyle had. I pushed that thought out of my mind.

"Great, now what do I do?" I muttered to myself. I considered going back into the hotel to tell Paul and Adam. But Kyle couldn't really be gone! Could he?

Sighing, I flung myself into the seat where Kyle had been sitting yesterday. Why are we having so much stinking bad luck? Rob goes missing, then I smack poor Paul into a wall and sprain his wrist. Then Kyle gets sick, and now I can't find him. When it rains, it pours!

"Hey!"

Was that a Kyle hey? I swirled around, only to find Adam looking at me. I sighed.

"Pookie's up!" he smiled, stretching his arms wide open. "Hey, we were looking for you! Thought you'd gone missing!"

Grimacing, I said, "Kyle's not here."

"I know," Adam replied. "He smartened up last night and got his butt inside. He's in his room with Paul. We've been waiting for you! Come on, boy, let's get some chowage!"

I felt my face burning as I followed Adam into the hotel. We passed through the lobby, to the elevators.

"Hey, I had another dream last night," Adam announced as we entered the elevator. The metal doors closed behind us.

Smirking, I replied, "It was about the Real World video again, right?"

"No, not last night!" he exclaimed, like I should have known. "No, this one had to do with the Bent video."

I nodded, waiting for Adam to continue.

"See, I was walking down that street where we shot the video. And Rob comes barreling around the corner," Adam swooped his hand in front of him, "in that car, you know, the one I drove? And I'm running like hell, but he's just gaining on me. He comes crashing into me, and I go sprawling. Then Kyle comes along and..."

"Takes your wallet."

"No," Adam shook his head. "My baby doll heads!"

I burst out laughing, and Adam furrowed his eyebrows.

"It wasn't funny!" he exclaimed in horror. "He tossed the original baby doll head into the gutter and had this maniacal laughter going on."

The elevator doors opened.

"The rest was like the video." Adam led me down the hallway to Kyle's room. I could smell Paul before we even got inside. When we entered the room, we found him sitting at the desk, puffing away at a cigarette and drinking coffee.

"Hey, does either one of you mind turning the page for me?" he asked, raising the hand that held his coffee cup and cigarette to a newspaper that was strewn across the desk in front of him. Adam turned the page. "Thanks."

"We ate all the Honey Combs," Kyle said in a hoarse voice from where he laid on the bed.

"What?!? No!" Adam raced for the room service cart and frantically searched its contents. Wide-eyed, he looked at Paul. "Is he serious?"

Paul nodded, not glancing up from his newspaper. "But Kyle stuck a box of Lucky Charms under the bed," he said in monotone.

Adam dove to the floor. "Frosted Lucky Charms!" he sang from underneath the bed. "They're magically delicious!" He crawled out with his prize. As he got to his feet, he asked, "We still have milk left, right?"

"How should I know?" Paul snapped, furrowing his eyebrows. "Check the cart!"

Lowering his head, Adam wandered toward the service cart. Poor guy looked like a whipped dog.

I dragged a chair to the desk and sat down next to Paul. "Hey," was all I was brave enough to say to him.

"Hey, Pookie," he sighed and took a drag of his cigarette. I don't know how he could hold a cigarette and a cup of coffee with the same hand, but he managed. It was a wonder he didn't burn himself with one while he was occupied with the other. He put down his coffee cup and looked me in the eye. "While you were out this morning, I called the police and filed a missing persons report."

A knot was forming in my throat. "So, so he's officially missing now?" I managed to choke out.

Paul nodded and puffed on his cigarette. "I didn't know what else we should do but call the police. Adam and Kyle agreed."

"So what are we doing now?" I asked, pulling a cigarette out of the carton that lay on the desk.

Shrugging, he said, "I guess we just wait."

"Here?"

"I don't know. I mean, we can't go on tour without him. It's not like we had plans to be anywhere else, so we can afford to stick around here for a few days. Just hope he turns up."

I swallowed hard, but the knot in my throat wouldn't clear. I grabbed my lighter out of my back pocket and lit the cigarette. "We just sit around the hotel?"

"That's what I'm going to do," Paul replied. "I don't know. I don't know what to do."

"I was going to go to the university library today," Adam announced through a mouthful of cereal. I turned around and found him sitting on the floor behind me. "I want to get on-line and write a postcard from the road. We should explain some of this to the fans."

Paul faced Adam. "What are you going to tell them?" he asked.

"The truth!" Adam exclaimed, slamming his cereal bowl onto the floor. A few drops of milk splashed down the side of the bowl, which he blotted with a napkin.

"But we're telling them..."

"No, you're telling them a lie! I never agreed to lying!"

"Adam, think about this," Paul leaned forward, closer to Adam. "What's going to happen if we tell them that Rob's missing? Most fans will be genuinely upset, but some of them, a small handful mind you, might try to hurt him. They'll know he's out here, just wandering around North..."

"You're paranoid."

"We don't want a media circus!"

Adam leapt to his feet and approached Paul. "So that's what this is about." He shook his head. "You just don't want bad publicity for the band."

"What?!?" Paul jumped out of his chair, knocking it over. "Look, I care about Rob, no matter what he's doing! He's my friend!"

Taking a step back, Adam nodded. "Okay, I get it," he breathed and headed for the door. He glanced at Kyle, then at me. "I'll be in my room, if anybody wants me," he announced and stepped out.

Paul sighed. With his working hand, he set his chair upright and sat back down. "I knew that was coming," he said. Looking at Kyle, he added, "Looks like Kyle slept through it too."

"How's he doing today?" I asked, gazing over at him.

"Better than last night. He was coughing so loud, I could hear him in my room. I thought he was keeping the whole floor awake. You didn't hear him?"

I shook my head. As if Paul had cued him, Kyle coughed. He muttered something to himself, rolled over, and settled again.

Paul watched Kyle as he took a drag from his cigarette. "Seems like he's always completely wiped. I was going to stick around with him today." He turned to me. "Can you hang around with Adam? Just see what he's going to write on the web page?"

"I can't stop him from writing anything." I really did not want to become caught up in Paul and Adam's argument.

"I know," Paul sighed, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Just use your best judgement. I mean, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe we should be telling the fans the truth. I don't know." His eyes were red and brimming with tears.

"I should go..."

Paul nodded, closing his eyes. "Yeah."

I left the room.


	10. matchbox ten

Adam and I wandered into UNC Greensboro's library a few hours later. Adam's shoes squeaked with each step, drawing some attention from students and library workers. They were a raggedy pair of sneakers that he usually wore around the tour bus, when his feet got cold. The sneakers went well with his threadbare jeans and ratty football jersey. He wore his beaten-up Yankees cap backwards, and his hair stuck straight out over the size adjuster. As he walked, people began ignoring his noisy tread.

Nobody seemed to notice me, although I was dressed in the same type of clothes I always wear. Which was good.

We reached the computer lab and chose computers that were beside one another. Adam jiggled the mouse. The computer awoke from screensaver mode; colour crept onto the screen.

"Aw!" Adam exclaimed when a please log-in box popped up on the monitor. "We need a password!" His eyes wandered around the lab and fell upon a woman across the room. She swept her copper locks off her shoulder and leaned over a student, who sat at a computer terminal. "Wait, I have an idea! Be right back!"

Adam sauntered across the room. He stopped beside the woman, who turned to him. Leaning against the wall, he grinned. I shook my head and smiled.

"Hey, did you go to the concert on Monday?" I heard a female voice behind me. Alarmed, I glanced over my shoulder and sighed when I saw that the girl was speaking to another guy. I returned my gaze to the please log-in box.

"Yeah," I heard the guy's gruff response. "Man, Matchbox Twenty is such a sell-out!"

"No! Rob Thomas was sick!"

"Yeah, right!" the guy exclaimed. I could hear one of them typing away at a keyboard. "I was visiting my grandmother yesterday, and I saw him wandering down the street!"

"YOU SAW ROB THOMAS!?!" the girl shrieked exactly what I was thinking.

"Yeah! I thought it was cool too, until he totally snubbed me! I was like, Hey, Rob!, and he just kept walking."

Adam approached me. He opened his mouth but closed it again when I raised a finger to my lips. I motioned my thumb over my shoulder.

"Maybe he didn't hear you," the girl suggested, and Adam raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, no, he heard me!" the guy replied. "He gave me this funny look when I passed him. Man, Matchbox Twenty used to be so cool, but Rob Thomas is such a loser!"

Adam's eyes lit up. He swirled around to face the students. "Wait!" he exclaimed, and the two jumped. "You saw Rob Thomas?" he asked the guy, a round faced kid with a mushroom haircut. "When?"

Glancing from the girl to Adam, the guy replied, "Yesterday."

"Where?"

"In Faith!"

"Where's that?"

The guy narrowed his eyes at Adam. "Man, what is this, twenty questions? Who the heck are you?"

Raising a finger over his lips, Adam removed his hat. "Please don't say anything. I'm..."

"ADAM!!!" the girl exclaimed, clasping her hands over her cheeks. "YOU'RE ADAM GAYNOR OF MATCHBOX TWENTY!!!"

Students and staff looked up from their monitors with wide eyes.

Adam turned to me. "We gotta get out of here," he murmured to me.

"Hey, can I have your autograph?" the girl asked, thrusting a pen and paper into his hands.

"Um, sure!" he smiled, signing his name with a stroke of the pen. Looking past them, I saw a mob of people drawing closer to us. I bolted out of my chair and ran for the door. Glancing behind my shoulder, I found Adam at my heels...

And a few dozen people at his heels.

"Go! Go!" he exclaimed. We raced out of the computer lab, past library workers and students who just stared after us. Our pursuers were slowing.

Adam shoved me into the front door to the library. My head slammed into the glass. Pain shot across my forehead.

"It says pull! It says pull!" I shouted. He stepped back, and I ripped the door open. We flew out of the library, toward the tour bus. Black spots crossed my vision, and I felt my legs going numb.

"Adam, I can't run anymore!"

"We're almost there!"

Those were the last words I heard before I crumpled to the pavement.


	11. matchbox eleven

My eyelids fluttered open, and through a haze, I saw Adam kneeling over me.

"Man, I feel like such an idiot! Are you okay?"

I tried to nod, but my head was reeling. Adam handed me an icepack, and I laid it across my forehead. My eyes darted about, and I realised that I was lying on the floor in the tour bus. "How did I get here?" The weakness in my voice scared me.

Settling on the floor beside me, Adam said, "I carried you."

"You did not!"

"Okay, so I dragged you in here. You passed out like a few feet away from the door!"

My face was heating up. Couldn't I have held on long enough to board the tour bus?

"I'm sorry, Pookie."

"Don't worry about it," I replied. The icepack was making my head hurt worse. "It was payback for spraining Paul's wrist. Guess now it's his turn to hurt you."

Adam grimaced, and I wished I could have retracted that last comment. "We should go back to the hotel, let Kyle and Paul know what we heard. Do you want to move..."

"No," I replied before he could finish his question. I dared not raise my head.

By the time Adam pulled the tour bus into the hotel parking lot, I had managed to climb onto a chair. He shut off the motor and turned to me. "Hey, Pookie! You're up!" Pulling on the pole beside me, I got to my feet.

I followed Adam through the hotel, to Kyle's room. Inside, Paul was standing at the window, cigarette in hand. He turned around as we entered the room. He glanced at me, then stared out the window again.

"So did you write it?" he asked, raising the cigarette to his lips.

"No, we found something out though," Adam replied, seating himself where Paul had been sitting before. "Somebody at the university saw Rob yesterday."

Paul whirled around. "What?!?"

Kyle furrowed his eyebrows and grunted. Coughing, he drew his knees closer to his chest. The muscles in his face relaxed as he fell deeper into sleep.

"This guy said that he saw Rob walking around in a city called Faith," Adam said, glancing at Kyle.

"Where the hell is Faith?" Paul took another drag on his cigarette.

"Hey, I ain't an atlas!"

Paul turned to me. "Pookie, can you go downstairs and..."

"Let Brian rest! He..."

"No, I can go!" I interrupted, shaking my head at Adam. Kyle sat up, coughed violently, and fell back into bed. Really, we had enough going on. If Paul heard any more bad news, he might have cracked.

Clenching his cigarette between his lips, Paul reached into his back pocket. "Okay," he shrugged, handing me a handful of cash. "Can you go downstairs and buy a map of North Carolina?"

A few minutes later, the three of us were hovering over the map.

"I see it," Adam murmured. He pointed to dot beside Salisbury.

"But that's about forty miles from here!" I exclaimed.

Paul smirked. "Our Rob is a fast hitchhiker. Let's grab Kyle and get out of here."

As Paul and Adam moved to Kyle's side, I stared at the word Faith. Forty miles away was good; it gave me a chance to sleep off this throbbing headache.


	12. matchbox twelve

Evening and Faith, North Carolina, greeted me as I opened my eyes. I squinted at the remnants of sunshine that raged to remain on the land as it sank into the pastures...

Pastures?

"I thought I'd seen the boondocks!" Adam exclaimed. Kyle's coughing resonated through the tour bus from the back, where he was sleeping.

Paul was standing in the aisle, staring out the windshield. "Can we stop at that gas station up there?" he called to Frank. The tour bus passed a few small stores before pulling into a parking lot. The gas station was attached to a convenience store. A few people were hanging around outside, shooting the breeze.

"We're not going to need disguises here!" Adam commented. He flung off his Yankees cap and followed Paul out the door. I glanced at Kyle, who was still coughing, before I got out of the bus.

The people in front of the gas station/convenience store stared at us.

"You boys ain't from around here, are ya?" an elderly gentleman turned from his friends and approached us. His friends wandered away, down the main road.

"No, sir," I replied, remembering my southern manners. "We're looking for someone."

That's when I realised that nobody had a picture of Rob on them; the one we'd showed Alejandro was Marisol's. Adam must have realised this too, because he ran back into the bus.

"Ain't nobody around here," the man shook his head. "Just folks doing their grocery shopping is all."

Paul pointed to the convenience store. "In there?"

"Yeah!" the man narrowed his eyes at Paul. "And it ain't polite to point!"

Adam bounded out of the bus. Panting, he handed a picture to the man. "Have, have you seen this guy...sir?"

"Well, that's him!" he replied, pointing a thumb at Paul.

"No," Adam held his hands on his knees. "The guy next to him."

The man's eyes widened. "Son, are you telling me that this here person next ta this fellah is a man?!?"

"What picture did you give him?" Paul looked over the man's shoulder. "Adam, go get another one!"

It had to be that picture from Germany, where Rob dressed in drag and posed with Paul. I couldn't help but smile.

Furrowing his eyebrows, the man stared at Paul. "Is there something wrong with you, boy?"

"N-no, sir," Paul stammered, just as Adam ran up to the man and handed him another picture.

"And he's the one who looks like a fellah in this picture?"

Closing his eyes, Adam nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Yeah, I've seen him."

"Really?!?" Adam exclaimed with a smile. "When?"

"It was yesterday. See, the misses sent me out to go on down to the store and pick up some eggs. Ya see, Patsy, that's our hen, she hadn't been layin' 'em quite so much any more, so we had her for dinner a couple evenings ago. So we needed eggs. Well I come wandering down here, and this fellah, your friend, comes sauntering by. He seemed a cheerful sort, so I said good evening to him..."

"He was here in the evening?" Paul smiled, a glimmer of hope in his eye.

"Now wouldn't he be here in the evening if I said good evening to him?" the man snapped at Paul. "You know, boy, I don't like you!"

Paul lowered his head.

"Please continue, sir," I prompted.

"So, anyways, I said good evening to him. And he smiled and said good evening back to me. I asked him how he was doing, and he told me about a poetry reading he went to. Said he read something he wrote, and people seemed to like it. He was very happy with himself, and I was happy for him. Nice fellah." The man glared at Paul. "Musta got mixed up with a bad crowd if you got him dressing like a woman."

"Sir?"

The man turned to Adam.

"Do you know, by any chance, where he went?"

"Oh, he left," the man replied. "I saw him getting into an eighteen wheeler with a tattooed gentleman when I was coming out of the store." He handed the picture back to Adam.

Adam took the picture from the man. "Did you see which way they went, sir?"

"Toward Salisbury. Down that road yonder," he pointed behind us. "Back the way y'all came into town."

"Well, thank you, sir!" The right side of Adam's lips curved upward. He shook the man's hand and boarded the bus.

Paul extended his hand to the man. "Thank you, sir!" he said with a meek smile.

The man stared at Paul for a few seconds before accepting the outstretched hand. As I stepped into the bus, I heard the man ask, "So what happened to your other arm, boy? A little guy like you didn't try and play football, did ya?"


	13. matchbox thirteen

"You know," Paul sighed, taking a drag from his cigarette, "we can't chase Rob across the country."

I glanced at Kyle. He had just woken up, and his eyes were still glossy with sleep. His hair shot out in every direction, and his arms wrapped around his torso. "What do we do then?" he croaked, then let out a string of coughs.

Paul shrugged, and I looked over at Adam. His arms were crossed as he stared out the window beside him. He looked like I felt, like he wanted to be any place but here, now. I gazed out the window beside me, at the signs that flew by overhead as we soared down the highway, toward Salisbury.

"I say," I heard Paul's voice behind me. "I say we give up and go home."

I whirled around as Adam exclaimed, "What?!?"

"What else are we supposed to do," Paul spoke to the floor. "He left of his own accord. I don't know. Maybe he's sick of all this."

Adam turned back to his window, and I turned back to mine. I couldn't think of anything to say. My mouth was too parched to speak anyway. The tour bus glided down an exit ramp. I watched as the guardrails became smeared, shiny lines, running parallel to one another. When the bus rolled onto the main road, the metallic streaks just stopped. We left them behind.

"There aren't any hotels in the area," Frank called to us from the front of the bus. "Are you guys okay with staying at Sleep Inn or something?"

We took turns shrugging before Paul replied, "Sleep Inn is fine."

When Frank handed out the keys, I went straight to my room and locked myself inside. It was all over. Just like that. I sat on my bed and took off my glasses. I laid back and stared at the blurry ceiling for a while, before I realised that I couldn't sleep here. Slipping on my glasses, I got to my feet and wandered out of the motel room.

The tour bus was locked. I grabbed the key out of my pocket and let myself in. Paper cups and food wrappers were strewn all over the floor; it was getting pretty bad in here. I kicked aside some of the trash before sitting down. Leaning over my lap, I rubbed my eyes beneath my glasses and sighed. I caught a glimpse of white from the corner of my eye as I lowered my hands. The pictures. I picked them up and turned them over. The top one was of Paul and Rob in Germany, when Rob had put on this blond wig and shades and had made a very convincing woman. A smile swept across my face but faded as I flipped to the next picture. It was a picture of Rob and Marisol. They were in one another's arms and beaming at the camera. If Rob left of his own accord, like Paul says, I thought, then why not tell Marisol?

Too many questions swirled through my brain, and my head was killing me. Closing my eyes, I put the pictures down. I laid down on the seat. When I opened my eyes, I realised that I was laying on the ground in an alley.

"Get up!"

I looked up and found a shadow standing over me, his hand extended. I squinted at him. "Rob?"

"Yeah!" the figure replied. "Get up, man! Here! Take my hand!"

I stretched my hand toward his, but he was too far away. "I can't reach you, Rob!"

"I'm right here." I saw his face clearly now, and he was smiling at me. "You just have to reach a little farther."

Thrusting my hand forward, I reached Rob's. It fell through his and dropped to the ground. He began to fade.

"Get up!" a voice spoke in the darkness, but it wasn't Rob's. I awoke to someone jabbing me in the arm with a stick.


	14. matchbox fourteen

I grabbed the stick and flung it across the bus. Adam leapt backward and fell into the seat behind him.

" ' the hell you doing?" I exclaimed as I sat up.

"I thought that was a safe way to wake you up!" Adam replied. "I don't want a sprained wrist!"

I rubbed my eyes. "Adam, what are you doing here?" I murmured as I put my glasses on.

"Kyle's on his way to the hospital."

"Why?" I replied, staring into Adam's sleep-glazed eyes. "What happened?"

"Paul heard him coughing and wheezing through the paper walls and went to go check on him," Adam explained, leaning toward me. "Kyle was having a hard time breathing, and his skin was burning hot. Paul thinks he's got a fever of, like, 104. He called 911. You didn't hear the ambulance in the parking lot?"

I shook my head. "Sounds like he does have bronchitis," I sighed. I reached for my carton of cigarettes but decided against smoking. "So did Paul go with him to the hospital?"

"Yeah," Adam replied, rubbing his eyes. He was wobbling around on the cushion as his eyelids strained to stay open. I glanced out the window. The roads were wet; it must have rained while I was asleep. Another thing I'd missed while dreaming. My breath fogged the glass. I sat back and sighed, then turned to Adam. He was curled up in a ball, asleep. How could he sleep now?

I stepped out of the tour bus and locked the door behind me. A damp chill hung in the air as I wandered through the parking lot. A breeze whispered past the trees and caressed my face, sending a shiver down my spine. Crossing and clutching my arms to my chest, I plodded through the puddles. I lowered my foot into each one, but my footprint disappeared, even as I raised up my leg. My steps came heavier, and closer together. My arms broke free of one another. And I ran. My feet slammed into puddles, rain water exploding around them. But, when I looked behind me, everything was just as before.

The more I ran, the more heavily I breathed. The bitter air coursed through my lungs and singed my breaths. I had to slow down. As I walked, I realised that I had to stop. I was panting as I returned to the bus, tired and feeling ridiculous.

I ascended the steps, panting, and found Adam still asleep. He had shifted, and his back was now facing me. I sat down and watched him. I watched his body rise and fall in tune with his breath. My mind was clouding. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

I don't know how long I was out of it when the phone in the tour bus rang.

"Kyle!" Adam exclaimed, and my eyelids flew open. He was still asleep, and the phone rang again. I jumped up and grabbed the receiver.

"Paul?"

"Hey, Pookie!"

It wasn't Paul.


	15. matchbox fifteen

I just stood in the aisle of the tour bus, holding the telephone receiver to my ear. This had to be a dream.

"Brian? You there?"

"Yeah," I wiped the sleep out of my eyes. "Rob, where the hell have you been?"

"I don't know," Rob's voice trembled. "I don’t know what happened. I just kinda woke up here, and I don't remember... Have, have I been gone for a while?"

"Yeah," I rubbed the bridge of my nose and sighed. "For about three days."

I could hear cars gliding through rainwater on the other end of the phone. And tapping. Rob's got this nervous habit of thumping his fingers against whatever's handy, and it usually drives me nuts. Not tonight.

Rob exhaled into the receiver. "This is weird," he murmured.

Clutching the receiver to the side of my face, I asked, "Where are you? We'll come pick you up."

"I'm at an Exxon... somewhere. Like out in the middle of nowhere. There's a sign that says Blythewood Road, and a sign for highway 77... shoot, I'm in South Carolina!"  
His location didn't surprise me; after all, our Rob is a fast hitchhiker. "So you're like right off the highway?"

"Yeah..." his voice trailed off.

"We'll come get you," I promised him, glancing at Adam, who was still asleep. "We'll be right there. You'll be waiting for us?"

"Pookie, where am I going to go?" I heard Rob laugh over the phone lines. "Guess I can't ask that anymore, not for a while!"

When we'd hung up, I turned to my sleeping friend. "Hey, Adam!"

"Never lick a phonebook," he murmured, arching his back and shifting in his seat. "Can't you guys even squeeze the toothpaste right? This place is a dump."

"Adam!"

His eyelids flew open as he bolted upright in his chair. "Huh?"

"We gotta go!"


	16. matchbox sixteen

I felt like I was waking up as I drove down Highway 85, toward South Carolina.

"Take the next exit," Adam sat diagonally behind me, with a map stretched out in his lap. "It goes to 77."

Highway 77. Like where Rob said he was. Like where I had dreamed he said, but we were really going. I didn’t trust this all enough to take it as reality. I clenched the wheel tighter beneath my fingers and felt its cold plastic covering embossing itself into my hands.

The clock read 1:43. I yawned, because I knew I was supposed to be tired. But I wasn’t afraid of falling asleep at the wheel; I was afraid that I was already sleeping.

A familiar song hummed from the speakers, and I turned up the radio. I tapped my left foot along to the tune.

"Aw, yeah!" Adam leaned forward. "Turn it up!"

"I just did!"

"Then turn it up more!"

Shrugging, I reached for the volume knob.

"Awake on my airplane, awake of my airplane," Adam sang along with the radio. "Hey, Pookie! Have you ever seen this music video?"

"I don’t think so," I murmured, keeping my eyes focused on the eighteen-wheeler in the other lane. He was driving like an idiot.

"They do a whole bunch of it underwater," he explained, smiling. "And, in another part, this house starts filling up with water, and the band’s just sitting there on the roof, playing. It’s so whacked! It’s awesome!"

The eighteen-wheeler swerved into my lane, and I laid on the horn.

"We should do something like that in a video," Adam continued. "Some underwater sequence."

"Moron," I muttered under my breath, considering flipping off the truck driver.

"What?!?"

Shaking my head, I said, "Nothing, Adam."

"Did you just call me a moron?"

"No, I..."

The eighteen-wheeler cut in front of me with only a couple feet to spare.

"You freaking idiot!" I exclaimed, hitting the brakes and the horn. Adam stood up. "Where did this guy get his license?"

"Sometimes the prize in your Cracker Jacks is really good," Adam murmured, leaning toward the windshield. "No, look! He’s got Florida plates. They’ll let anybody drive there."

Adam returned to his seat.

"Could you take my picture," Filter blared over the radio. "’Cause I won’t remember..."

"I don’t think I’ve heard this song in months," Adam commented, leaning back. "If there’s ever a day we’re laughing about all this, I’m going to have to sing this to Rob."

Adam put his feet up on the seat across from him. He sat there quietly for a few minutes, staring out the side window, before he said, "Hey, Brian, what would you have done if Rob hadn’t called?"

"What do you mean, what would I have done," I smirked. "I’d be sleeping right now!"

"Well, yeah!" Adam grimaced at me. "But what about tomorrow? I mean, Paul said we should all go home. Would you have?"

My smile faded. "I don’t know," I replied, drumming my fingers on the steering column. "How ‘bout you?"

Adam’s shoes slid off the seat and thumped onto the floor. "You know, there have been times when I’ve wanted to go home. But that’s always in passing. I love it on the road! I love hanging around with you guys."

Awkward silence.

"I LOVE YOU, MAN!" Adam exclaimed in a stoned voice, and we burst out laughing.

"Hey," I said as we settled. "Do you mind driving? Everything’s looking two-dimensional."

"No, that’s fine. Pull over."

I thought I was tired. But, as Adam took the wheel, I must have caught my second wind. I was still awake when we neared Blythewood.

"It’s this exit right here," I pointed out the window at a highway sign. "Exit XX."

Adam turned off the highway. I don’t know exactly how fast he was going, but he was taking the ramp at highway speed. We flew past the guardrails.

"Adam, you’re a lunatic!" I exclaimed, and he just smiled.

The tour bus soared down Blythewood Road. From the corner of my eye, I saw a shadowy figure run into the road.

"Adam! Watch out!"


	17. matchbox seventeen

Adam hit the brakes. My body slammed into the side of the seat as the tour bus squealed to a halt. My right arm, jammed between the seat and my torso, throbbed with pain. Leaning to the side, I released my arm and rubbed it with my left hand.

I looked at Adam. His head was against the steering wheel, which he clenched beneath his fingers. "You okay?"

"That was Rob I almost hit," he spoke into the wheel before sitting up straight. Three tattooed, biker-looking men raced in front of the tour bus and ran after Rob. "’The heck is going on?" Adam murmured.

We jumped out of the tour bus and stood on the side of the road, watching as three bikers chased Rob into the wooded area across from the Exxon. Rob clamoured up a tree, one of the three climbing after him. The other two stood at the bottom, laughing and swearing.

I had to do something. I knew that Adam, Rob, and I couldn’t take on the muscle-bound men; there had to be another way. Glancing across the street, I saw three motorcycles parked in the outskirts of the Exxon parking lot. I took off running.

"Brian!" Adam yelled after me, but I didn’t turn around. I crossed the street and stopped right in front of the bikes.

"Great wheels!" I hollered, and the two bikers standing at the bottom of the tree swirled around. I pushed over one of the motorcycles.

"Hey, squirt!" a biker yelled at me. "You’d better just walk away now if you know what’s good for you!"

Thrusting my left foot into another motorcycle, I left behind a toe-sized dent. My foot was killing me, but I didn’t let that show.

The two bikers glanced at one another before taking off after me. I watched them as they approached, knocking over the other motorcycle and slamming my heel into it. The bikers sped across the street, but I stayed with the motorcycles. I gave one another kick. Really, at this point, my foot hurt too much to be inflicting any damage anyway. But I continued anyway.

When they were closing in, I turned and ran toward the Waffle House next door to the Exxon. I should have started running earlier; they were closing in too fast. I scrambled around the back of the building, searching for somewhere to hide. I couldn’t run from them forever.

There was no place to hide, so I raced down the street.

"You friggin’ little sh**!" one of the bikers cried out, along with some other choice words.

The toes in my left foot were throbbing, and I felt them swelling beneath the shoe. I shifted my weight to my heels. Still. Couldn’t run for much longer.

Then something snagged my collar, and I went down.


	18. matchbox eighteen

I froze. I clenched my eyes shut and waited for a fist to slam into me. I waited for the attack. Instead, the grip on my collar loosened. I opened my eyes and saw blue lights flashing.

The cops! The cops! I love the cops!

The biker who held me let go of my shirt, and I laid there on the ground while policemen cuffed them.

"Sir," a female officer approached me. Offering a hand to me, she asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah," I replied as I took her hand. "Thanks!"

She stared at me. Squinting, she asked, "Hey, you’re not... no, couldn’t be. This might be a strange question, but are you Brian of Matchbox Twenty?"

I nodded, rubbing my right arm.

The officer gasped. "Ah love your music! Y’all are such a talented band!" She turned to the second officer, who was closing the back seat door of the squad car. "Hey, Ronny! You’re ain’t never going to guess who this is!"

The second officer sauntered toward us. Keeping his eyes on me, he asked, "Who?"

"Matchbox Twenty’s bass player, Brian Yale!"

"Hey!" Ronny exclaimed, extending a hand to me. I shook his hand. "Whatcha doin’ here? Matchbox Twenty ain’t touring in South Carolina! Ah know, ‘cause ah wanted to go, but it was way up in Greensboro and ah was on duty that night and couldn’t go!"

Behind the officers, I saw the tour bus approaching. It stopped behind the squad car, and Adam and Rob came running out of it.

"Brian, man!" Adam exclaimed, reaching me before Rob did. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, and the police officers just stared at Adam, then at Rob. Their mouths dropped open.

"Ah am so glad ah didn’t call in sick tonight," Ronny smiled.

After hanging around with the police officers for several minutes and signing autographs, Adam, Rob, and I stepped back into the tour bus.

"Pookie," Adam patted me on the back, "I don’t know how you got such a crazy idea, but that was brilliant! You’re nuts!"

I glanced at Rob. Now, with the light in the bus and all the excitement behind us, I noticed how he was dressed. He had on this hole-stricken T-shirt. It had to be at least three sizes to big. The sleeves dangled several inches below his triceps, and the sides ballooned out around his waist. The shirt went all the way to the knees of his jeans. On his feet, he wore his Adidas sneakers, probably the same pair he had on the day that he left. The shoes were the only thing that seemed familiar about him. Even his hair was greasy and his face was filthy.

Only a matter of three days, and he looked like this?

"Rob, what happened to you?" I asked as we sat down and Adam started up the bus.

Rob shrugged and ran his hands through his hair. Lowering his arms, he looked at his hands and cringed. "I woke up, right outside that Exxon," he said, pointing out the window at the gas station as we passed it. "I was just laying there on the ground, outside the bathrooms. And I’m like, where the hell am I? I wandered the place a little. And I got that old feeling back, you know? Of being seventeen again. People... they look at you funny when you’re dressed like this." He looked down at his clothes. "They treat you completely different. Like, if I had walked in there, dressed like I was ready to go on stage, they would have at least respected me, if not recognised me and asked for an autograph. But now..." he laughed. "I don’t know, it’s screwed up! You’re only worth something if you got money, right?"

He sat back in his chair.

"Hey!" Adam glanced over his shoulder, then returned his gaze to the road. "Tell him what you’ve got!"

"Oh!" Rob smiled. He pulled a duffel bag out from under his seat. Unzipping it, he said, "I’ve got some crazy stuff in here!"

"He’s got, like, this whole notebook of poetry!" Adam laughed.

"Yeah! Apparently, I’ve been very poetic! I’ve got, like, thirty, thirty-five poems here, and I don’t even remember writing them! Think it’s okay to put them to music?"

"You’d better!" Adam exclaimed. "Something good is going to come of all of this! That right there, what you’re holding, that’s our next album!"

Rob stared down at the notebook and grinned. "I don’t know. They could suck!" He slipped the notebook back into his duffel bag. Digging around inside the bag, he said, "I’ve got this whole sandwich baggie full of those tab things you put on bread bags. Have no idea what I was doing there!" He pulled it out and tossed it on the floor beside the bag. "I got Pez!" Smiling, he held Daffy Duck Pez dispenser beside his face. "Oh! And I have this novel that’s all in Spanish."

"Before you left," I informed him, "you were writing in Spanish."

"Was I?"

"Yeah! Kyle found this piece of paper..."

"Hey," Rob looked around. "Where is Kyle and Paul anyway?"

Silence. Adam glanced over his shoulder at me, and I sighed. "Paul took Kyle to the hospital," I said. "Kyle’s got bronchitis, and he was having a hard time breathing."

"Man!" Rob exclaimed, staring out the window. He reached into the duffel bag and retrieved a pack of Camels and a lighter. Pulling a cigarette from the carton, he asked, "Is he okay? Can we go see him?"

"We don’t know where the ambulance took him," Adam replied from the driver’s seat.

"He went there in an ambulance?!? Man!" Rob lit his cigarette and took a drag. "Does Matt know about all of this?" he spoke through a puff of smoke.

I shrugged. "Paul called him Tuesday morning, but I don’t think he’s spoken to him since. Kyle wasn’t doing so bad then. I think Matt just knows about your disappearance."

Rob rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Lowering his hands, he said, "Guys, I’m really sorry ‘bout all this."

He wrapped his arms around his torso and gazed out the window. I noticed that he was shivering. "You hungry?" I asked him.

"A little," he shrugged, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"There’s a McDonald’s coming up," Adam announced.

Grimacing, Rob said, "I don’t have any money."

"No problem," Adam replied with a smile. "I’ll shout."

"You’ll shout?!?" I laughed. "Picking up a little Australian, are we?"

"I just like that one!"

The tour bus glided down the exit ramp. Adam was taking it much slower this time, probably too slow, going about thirty or something. Didn’t matter; there was nobody behind us anyway.

"What’s everybody want?" Adam asked as we approached the drive-thru speakers.

"Fries," I replied.

"An apple pie," Rob smiled.

Adam rolled down his window. "Cokes?"

We both nodded.

"Okay," Adam turned to the speakers. "Oh! They got Pokemon!"

"Would you like to try one of our extra value meals today?" a metallic voice blared over the speakers.

"Uh, no ma’am!" Adam called out the window. "I’d like a hamburger Happy Meal..."

Rob laughed. "A Happy Meal, Adam?"

"Shut up! I want Pokemon!"

"Would you like an apple pie with that?" the mechanical voice asked.

"Yes, actually! And I’d also like a large fry and three medium Cokes!"

Pause. "Okay, your total is..." Static.

"It’s what?"

Static. "Please drive around."

Shrugging, Adam turned to Rob. "Hey, can you get my money? It’s in an envelope in my blue travel bag."

Rob nodded and wandered to the back of the bus.

Adam approached the drive-up window, where a young lady in her twenties greeted him. Her hair was tied back, but errant curls sprung out of her scrunchie and framed her beaming face. "Hey there!" she stared at Adam. "You know, you look awfully familiar! Are you Adam Gaynor from Matchbox Twenty?"

Laughing, Adam replied, "You know, I get that a lot, actually!"

"Because you are or because you look like him?"

"Both, actually."

The young woman put her hands over her face and leapt into the air. Her curls bounced and settled when she landed. "No way!"

"Hey, Adam!" Rob called from the back of the bus. "I can’t find your money!"

"It might be up front, in my jacket pocket or something."

The girl gasped. "Is that... Rob Thomas?!?"

"No!" Adam replied with a chuckle. "That’s my kid brother... Stewy!"

Stewy? Rob mouthed the name as he approached me. He grabbed Adam’s jacket and sat down.

"He sounds nothing like Rob! What are you thinking?" Adam turned around and faced Rob with a huge smile. "Hey, Stewy! You find the money?"

"No, stupid!" Rob exclaimed in a high pitched squeal. I covered my mouth and laughed into my hand.

"He’s the one getting the Happy Meal," Adam told the girl. Shaking his head, he added, "The only way I can get that kid to behave is to bribe him!"

"Well..." the girl furrowed her eyebrows. Leaning out the window, she asked, "Can I see him?"

Adam shook his head. "No, no! He’s... he’s not good around strangers. He’ll fuss and he’ll pull at your earrings... He’s really a brat!"

"Oh, I see." She stepped back from the window. A minute later, she returned with a drink tray. Passing it to Adam, she said, "Here’s your food! Don’t worry; I’ll pay for it."

Grinning, Adam said, "Well, thank you..."

"Mary Beth," she replied.

"Thanks, Mary Beth!"

"It was nice to meet you, Adam! You’re much cuter in real life! You’re such a doll!"

Accepting the drink tray, Adam smiled. "Why, thank you!"

She handed him the bag with the fries. "Tell Rob, or Stewy, that I said hi! And please say hi to whoever else is really in there!"

Adam stared at her wide-eyed as he accepted the McDonald’s bag. Next, she handed him the Happy Meal bag. "And enjoy your Happy Meal, Adam! Hope you like your Pokemon!"

Mary Beth waved as we drove away.


	19. matchbox nineteen

While I was at the wheel of the tour bus, the telephone rang. I glanced behind me, but found that both Rob and Adam were asleep. I pulled off the road.

"Hello?" I picked up the phone, after it had rung six times.

"Brian, where are you?" Paul’s voice replied. "Frank said you left him a note that you took the tour bus..."

"We’ve got Rob."

"That’s great! What happened to him?"

I gazed upon Rob. "I don’t know. He doesn’t know. It was some kind of fugue thing."

" ‘The hell is fugue?"

"Fugue, Paul! It’s psychology! It’s when somebody just walks away from their life one day, then realises that they did but can’t remember what happened while they were gone. We’re lucky his only lasted a few days."

"Is he okay?" Paul whispered.

"Yeah, he’s sleeping right now. He’s just exhausted and confused... and smelling like a dumpster. But I think he’s coming out of this all right. How’s Kyle?"

"Oh, Kyle’s fine. They gave him breathing therapy, and he’s okay now."

Furrowing my eyebrows, I asked, "What about his fever?"

Pause. "I overreacted there," Paul admitted. "It wasn’t even a hundred degrees. Kyle was bugging me about it all the way back to the motel."

"Oh, you’re not at the hospital anymore?"

"No, they drove us back. Well, after we signed a few dozen autographs," Paul yawned into the phone. "So, are you all on your way back now?"

"Yeah. We’re only a few exits away."

"Okay, I’ll be waiting for you."

I laughed. "Paul, go to bed! We’ll all have breakfast in the morning!"

As I hung up, I glanced from Adam to Rob. Adam and Rob were curled up in their seats. Adam clutched his jacket while Rob cuddled with his koala bear. I smiled. I slid into the driver’s seat and started up the engine.


	20. matchbox twenty

If you’re gone - maybe it’s time to go home  
There’s an awful lot of breathing room  
But I can hardly move  
If you’re gone - baby, you need to come home  
Cuz there’s a little bit of something me  
In everything in you  
~ Rob Thomas, If You’re Gone


End file.
